Because I am a masochist. Because I believe the internet is a place to bitch and moan.
I'm a streetwalkin' cheeta with a heart fulla napalm
I was in the Dunkin' Donuts here on campus. (This just happened five minutes ago.) Some skinny little student was staring at me, as if dumbfounded that I was eating a donut. I don't normally eat donuts--or really any sweets. I don't keep them in the house. I don't even like to keep soda around. But this girl was staring at me, surprised to see me eating.
I kept me mouth shut and tried to ignore her.
I kept thinking.
I wanted to say--
Do you think I don't know what I look like? Bitch, I know I'm fat. I know I wear ugly clothes because I can't afford new ones and anyway, I'd have to shop at the fat woman's store. I know I have stretch marks on my stomach and under my arms. I know I can't even fit into most chairs. I know just how big and ugly my ass is.
I know that thousands of dollars worth of laser treatment still hasn't gotten rid of my facial hair. I know I look like a circus freak. I know I have to shave every day.
I know what sort of horror it is to look at me. So stop staring, motherfucker. Because I may be fat, but I can fucking fight, and I'm ready to go at any minute.
The fat person next to you may just be a bomb waiting for the perfect moment to kill you. So step away from me, you dumb, anorexic bitch.
A friend of mine suggested I may have polycystic ovaries. Unfortunately, there is a cure for that. I'm already on a watch for cervical cancer.